Chapter One
The pain of it all started here. Right here, in this very room. The shadows that danced and flickered against that glass bottle of Kanakan bliss just seconds before vanished, as I did that day. Two figures were in the midst of a titanic struggle for survival in a room lit only by the faint light of a candle on top of a sturdy oak table. In an instant, they smothered the candle, and tipped over the table with their frantic, utterly chaotic forms.
I was the one with the knife. And in the end, I stood over her, over lady Annabelle, over the mayor of Muse, capitol City-State of the League of Jowston, as she lay on the floor, blood spurting out of her neck in quick, rhythmic bursts. I had done it, I had assassinated Anabelle.
And just then, after I had done the deed that would help bring prosperity to a land troubled and corrupted by it's own leaders, I realized that I had done it. And in that very moment in time I dropped the murderous weapon I held in my left hand; I watched it fall, the glistening silver encased in the blood I had so heartlessly drawn from Lady Annabelle, and it fell into the crimson puddles that were quickly forming on the floor with a plop.
I wanted to scream. Oh, how I wanted to reverse what I had done. As I began to shake violently, uncontrollably, the double doors of Lady Annabelle's chambers burst open. Standing there, with a harrowing look of horror upon their faces, were Nanami and Riou. Light poured in the darkened room around their bodies as they stood there in the doorway.
Riou was the first one to speak. "Jowy, what happened," he yelled, his face laden with anger, fear, and confusion.
I always did love the boy. He was the best friend I could ever hope to have. As children, we would sit high in the branches of a large and welcoming oak, shielded from the nearly unbearable Kyaro heat. Just the thought of such times brought a sense of calm to my shivering body. I always loved those days, and now, as I looked at Riou, at Nanami, I could see how quickly they were fading.
I stepped forward, towards Riou, and put out my hand. "I, I'm, I'm sorry, Riou, I'm sorry Nanami." And with that, I ran. I slipped through the nearest window, and ran.
I wanted to stop, to turn back. As I kept running through the damp grassy woodlands behind Muse City Hall, I looked up at the midnight sky, the stars shining hazily through the dense fog that enveloped the city, I realized that I couldn't go back. I continued to run until Muse was but a dot in the distance, until I could no longer breath in the cold, wet air lingering amoung the stars, until I could no longer see the object of my past, or the pain of my future.
All things come to an end. Suddenly, my legs gave out from under me, and my momentum propelled me across the slick, wet grass head first. There I lay, the night's moisture clinging to my cold and shivering body. I turned over, and looked up at the stars. I could barely see them now.
"Who's there!?" This foreign voice was enough to help me realize the path I had chosen. It came with a little fear, sadness, but more importantly a hint of kindness. I let my head fall sideways against the grass. I saw him then, running towards me...
***
Virgil leaned back against a large rock, with one hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword and the other against the rough textures of the rock, the loose-fitting steel mesh adorning his arms scraping the grey composite material. A small cluster of fireflies flew about lazily ahead of him in the moist-laden summer night, their seemingly random luminance blurred by the thick fog that had come rolling over the hilltops at midnight's beckoning. The young soldier breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. His head began to rock slowly to a sound of beauty, the music of his home, a deep, wonderful melody that only he could hear.
"Sit up, Soldier!" suddenly the musical paradise that soothed his mind vanished, and Virgil straightened himself. Virgil looked behind him and saw the Captain briskly walking towards him from the camp. He could see the last of the fires being put out by the young men of Highland Army's 3rd company 1st division, and surmised that it was time for him to call it a night. He began walking towards his tent.
"I said attention, soldier!" Virgil immediately stopped and stood with his hands on his side in perfect posture The captain finally made it over to him. "What the hell are you doing," the Captain barked.
"Sir, I..."
"I said what the fuck do you think you're doing!" The captain was no more than two inches from Virgil's face, and spat as he screamed at him. Virgil lifted his hand to wipe the spit from his face. "I said attention! Are you deaf, soldier? Do I need to beat the words into your goddamn skull?"
Virgil quickly brought his hand back down to his side, as the small drops of spit that the captain had so generously deposited on his face began rolling down his cheeks. "You fucking blondes are all the same. If your daddy weren't such a legend in this division, I'd send you and that bitch you call mother back home. You're the watch-out tonight. Move!"
"Yes, sir."
"Goddammit, I said move! Now move!" With that, the captain violently grabbed the arm-hole of Virgil's breastplate and jerked him in the direction the look-out post on the other side of camp.
He took the hint. Virgil sprinted across camp, garnering the occasional wary glance from his fellow soldiers, until he was no longer in the captain's field of vision. Then he slowed his pace, and finally found the time to wipe salivary gift from his face that the captain had been so willing to give.
The camp was slowly darkening, and with all the fires now put out, the only luminance came in the form of candles from within the leather-made tents, transforming them into huge, makeshift lanterns. He could see men here and there, finishing out the last of their daily tasks as he jogged by. Several of them weren't doing anything aside from sitting outside their tents and enjoying the stillness of the peaceful, perpetually foggy night sky.
Virgil looked behind him, and slowed to a walk. The captain didn't even sleep on this side of the camp. And then the nirvanic sound of what might have been returned to him. He relished that sound. The smoke rising from the smoldering fires dancing upwards through the misty white fog; the Highland private leaning against a worn wooden chest, his head nodding up and down at the whims of his sleepiness; they all seemed choreographed to fit the magical melody shifting and swaying inside Virgil's head.
He came upon the old wooden structure as per the captain's orders. Sure, he didn't exactly get there quickly, but the fact that he got there was enough, right? He looked back again. The captain wasn't there.
Virgil tilted his head backwards. It was obviously an old post, or at least the weather made it seem so. The wood was waterlogged and the whole thing looked ready to come tumbling down at any second.
Nevertheless, he walked up to the poorly crafted ladder and began climbing. With each step upwards, the entire post seemed to groan and wince at the additional weight slowly making it's way up the ladder. Once at the top, he pulled himself over the ledge and leaned against the side rails of the look-out post.
There the melody of his mind continued to play. For minutes, hours, he didn't know.
Then he heard something in the distance. Virgil quickly stood up and looked out towards the direction the sound had originated. He saw nothing, and then began quickly climbing down the ladder. If he rang the bell, and nothing was out there, he'd be in a whole heap of trouble with the captain. No, Virgil would inspect it himself, it was easier that way.
He was quietly running towards the disturbance even before his feet touched the wet, mossy grass. As he ran, breathing the heavy fog in and out, he began to make out a blurry figure laying on the ground. He got closer and closer, until he was able to manage a "who goes there," without disturbing the Highland army.
The figure shifted and turned over. "ugh..."
Virgil determined that this boy wasn't any threat to him, or anybody else, for that matter. But why was he running in these woods? Didn't he know that the Highland army was in the middle of invading Jowston?
"Here, let me help you." He grabbed the boys arm and stood him up. He was able to stand by himself, albeit with his hands on his knees and breathing very heavily. "What's your name, boy?" Boy, huh. Virgil wasn't any older than he was.
"J..." he breathed, "Jowy."
Jowy certainly didn't look dangerous. His face was crested in mud, and he had no weapons on him as far as Virgil could tell. He wore a deep blue shirt, what used to be white pants, and what looked to be homemade leather boots. "Are you okay, Jowy?"
Jowy lifted his head. Virgil could see something in his eyes. A sadness, remorse, regret. "Yeah, I'm okay." Jowy stood up straight.
"Well then, come on, I'll have to take you to the captain." Virgil winced at that, and then laughed.
"What's funny," asked Jowy.
"Nothing, come on, Jowy."
Virgil thought the prisoner was supposed to be uneasy, not the captor.